


give us time to work it out

by CallicoKitten



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Multi, Road Trips, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: It starts when Laura is maybe stalking her ex-husband, is maybe kind of drunk and is maybe making just the most recent in a long, long lines of fuck ups.She's pulled in outside the shitty dive she's traced Shadow too, engine idling for the heat because it's godamn cold here in the winter and the radio won't work otherwise and she watches Shadow slam out of a side door, gripping a man by the back of his neck. She reaches for her cigarettes, remembers too late that she ran out three or four shitty small towns back and drums her fingers on the dash instead, watches as Shadow fucks the man into the wall.-the one where no one is a god but everyone's just as fucked up





	give us time to work it out

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing this on my phone since the finale and i don't think it's going to go anywhere or get any better so i figured i better suck it up and post it already
> 
> smidge of book-canon but nothing spoilery

It starts when Laura is maybe stalking her ex-husband, is maybe kind of drunk and is maybe making just the most recent in a long, long lines of fuck ups.

She's pulled in outside the shitty dive she's traced Shadow too, engine idling for the heat because it's godamn cold here in the winter and the radio won't work otherwise and she watches Shadow slam out of a side door, gripping a man by the back of his neck. She reaches for her cigarettes, remembers too late that she ran out three or four shitty small towns back and drums her fingers on the dash instead, watches as Shadow fucks the man into the wall.

This is the Shadow he never let her see, all rough hands and bruising grips and barely tamped down fury, she'd have to coax it out of him, like befriending a nervy alley cat only with more open-palmed slaps, more smirks and sneers.

Shadow pins the man's wrists above his head with one big hand, grips the man's hip with the other. If Laura tries real hard she can imagine it's her under that harsh grip, can feel the bruises blossom across her skin. He used to smooth his hands over them after, rub arnica oil in tight little circles, "I'm sorry, babe, I'm so sorry, babe."

And Laura would roll her eyes and says, "For fucksake, Puppy."

She reaches again for her cigarettes before remembering.

-

There's no arnica oil for the man, no gentle apologies. Shadow pulls out, lets him fall against the wall and stalks back into the bar. Laura waits for a moment, watches the man stand and yank his jeans back up before she gets out of the car and stalks over to him.

He's lighting a cigarette when she kicks him in the balls. Smiles as he folds over and wheezes, the cigarette dangling from his lips precariously. "The _fuck_ was that for?" he asks, casting green-gold gaze onto her.

She's kind of surprised _this_ is Shadow's type of man, battered and bruised, long limbs, red hair. In prison there was someone she thinks. During that month or so post-prison, pre-everything crashing down around her fucking ears she'd wake sometimes to Shadow twitching, moaning some name. Weird fucking name, sounded like Low-Key or some shit. When Laura asked, he'd deny it, shake his head, dark eyes earnest  - so damn _earnest_ \- and he'd say, "There's no one, babe. I love you, only you."

Over and over, like a fucking mantra.

Didn't last long though.

"Stay the fuck away from my husband," she spits and the man starts to laugh.

"Your _husband,_ " he repeats. "Well, I've got news for you, love. He's maybe just not that into you." His cigarette has smouldered out so he swears, lights it up again and takes a drag. "He weren't wearing a wedding ring."

Laura reaches forwards, plucks the cigarette from between his lips and takes a drag, "We're divorced," she says. "He's still mine though so stay _the fuck_ away."

He stares at her.

"I'm keeping this," she says, of the cigarette held delicately between her fingers and stalks off, back to the car, leaves the man standing in the snow staring after her.

-

She sees him again, of course she sees him again, stalking out of a Chinese restaurant in Shitty Small Town #11. He leans against the wall outside, passes a hand across his eyes before reaching for the packet of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. His hands shake when he lights one up.

"The fuck did I tell you?" Laura shouts, approaching him.

The man jerks, eyes wide. He sags against the wall when he sees her. "Oh great," he says. "The Crazy Ex. And here I was just wondering how my day was going to get any fucking better. Can't imagine why he'd ever divorce you, you seem like such fun."

Laura smiles, a bitter, ugly thing. She must have had a nice smile once. Guys thought so anyway. Right up until she broke their jaws, asked them to smile back. "Yeah, I'm a regular ray of fucking sunshine."

After a moment, he holds out the carton of cigarettes to her. Laura takes one, leans forward so he can light it.

That first hit is like a breath fresh air.

The man leans back against the wall, studies her. "He thinks you're dead, you know."

Laura nods, "That was kind of the point." She drags another drag and leans up against the wall beside him, "Left my car by a bridge near our house and series of drunk voice mails on his phone."

The man snorts. Laughs, shakes his head. "Jesus, you really are crazy."

"Maybe," Laura says.

"So, what? The plan was to pretend to off yourself, watch him fall apart and then turn up at his door? _Surprise honey, it was all a trick because I'm a manipulative daft cunt!_ "

Laid out bare like that it sounds every bit as stupid as it really is. "No," Laura says, defensively. "Yes. Maybe. I don't fucking now. I didn't really think it through."

The man hums, "Mm. I'm sensing that." He tilts his head back against the wall, exhales long and low. "He's got piss-poor taste in company, your boy-o."

"Don't I know it," Laura mumbles.

-

It's a while before she sees him again, has traced Shadow to some shitty motel in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

The motel owner asked her to get the fuck out of his car park if she weren’t planning on staying the night  so she’s across the road, tucked into the hard shoulder and chain smoking while she works her way through a bottle of vodka. It keeps her warm. She’s running low on funds, is on the last stretch of her gas. Has no fucking idea what she’ll do when her tank runs dry. Apparently, dead people aren’t allowed access to their bank accounts.

Wouldn’t matter anyway. What with the fancy funeral Shadow held for her she’s pretty sure there’s not much in there. Her life insurance policy had a suicide clause, Shadow didn’t make a cent off her death.

So, anyway, the man slams out of the motel room she knows Shadow’s in, the one next door to the old guy Shadow follows around like a puppy these days and makes it to the curb, sinks down to rest his head in his hands.

“Hello, Crazy Ex,” he says, when Laura approaches. Doesn’t look up. This time it’s Laura that offers the cigarette, taps the carton on his shoulder until he looks up and takes one, pulls a lighter out of thin air seemingly and offers it to her once he’s lit his. Laura takes it gratefully.

The man closes his eyes as he takes that first drag. It goes over him in a wave, in a ripple, he goes less rigid, exhales slowly and digs the heel of his free hand into his forehead. There’s a fresh cut there, starting to scab, covered over in little surgical strips to hold the skin closer together.  “He’s in trouble,” the man says, his voice rough at the edges. “Our boy.”

Our boy, he says. _Our_ boy.

“That man he’s taken up, the old geezer, everything he touches turns to shit.”

Laura’s never really given much thought to the old guy, still probably won’t. She should be more curious, more concerned but she’s not. She has no fucking idea what she’s doing, to be honest.

“This is what he does, how he works,” the man goes on. “Tricks you into working for him, promises you the whole fucking world and runs you dry. Runs you fucking dry.”

“That what happened to you?” Laura asks. “That why you’re still hanging around?”

“Nah,” the man shakes his head tiredly. “Your man took something from me. I need it back.”

Laura snorts, “Your innocence?”

He looks up at her at that. His gaze open and raw, “Fuck you, Crazy Ex.”

And well, shit. This is no fun when he’s got his head hanging down like that, when he’s looking like a man shit out of luck with no will to carry on. Laura sighs, drops down to sit beside him on the curb and stretches her legs out. “It’s Laura,” she says. “Laura Moon.”

“That’s a dumb fucking name,” he says. “I think I’ll stick with Crazy Ex. Suits you better. Laura Moon. Fucking _Shadow_.” he snorts. “Fucking fairytale names. Jesus.”

Laura waits.

“Sweeney,” he offers, eventually.

“Sweeney,” she repeats. “That a first name or a last name?”

“That your business or mine?” he returns.

“ _God_ , you’re touchy.”

“I’m tired,” he says. “So fucking tired.” He tilts his head back down, draws his knees up to his chest and presses his forehead to them. Breathes deeply. In and out.

“You should leave,” he says, when he looks back up. “Your mans as good as dead now he’s taken up with Wednesday. Live your life, Laura Moon. Or throw yourself off a bridge for real. I don’t fucking care. Just get out of here while you can.” He stands up, stomps off back towards the motel.

Laura finishes her cigarette on the curb. Stubs it out with the heel of her combat boots and heads back to the car. She rests her hands on the wheel. Fuck Sweeney. Fuck Shadow, Fuck fucking Wednesday and whatever shady business he’s in, just fuck everything.

-

She drives aimlessly. Her engine sputters out about two miles from the motel right on a bridge. Fucking Sweeney. She leaves the car in the middle of the road wanders over to edge and peers over.

A river runs beneath, shallow and fast, white spray where is skims over and between the rocky bed. It’s not that big of a drop but she might get lucky, crack her head open and drown while she’s out of it. Wouldn’t that be a thing? Laura Moon who’s been legally dead for two months turns up fresh and gamey in some fucking stream three states away.

But no. She’s not going to give them the satisfaction.

She walks back to the motel, hears the sirens before she sees them. The cars go peeling past her on the road. In the first one she catches sight of Shadow and Wednesday, in the second she sees Sweeney, leant down low in the backseat.

Laura sighs. Turns around and follows the flashing lights.

-

By the time she finds the police station, it's dead silent. Mostly just dead.

The cops are scattered about the front office. Most of them have been shot. Laura keeps thinking she should want to heave as she passes them by, should have some kind of visceral reaction to all the gore. She's never seen a dead body before, not even at a wake.

But there's nothing. Just a gentle _huh_.

God, she's so fucked up.

Only one of the holding cells is occupied when she gets back there, the door of the empty one hangs off it's hinges. Sweeney looks up when she comes in, tilts his head back and laughs, "God, you're just a bad penny, aren't you?"

“What happened?” Laura asks.

Sweeney spreads his hands. He looks wrecked. Tired, pale, his left eye and cheek bruising up handsomely, his knuckles split and raw. “I told you, Crazy Ex. The man your boy has taken up with isn’t a good one.”

“He killed all these people?”

“Well their chests didn’t explode of their own bloody volition, did they?”

Laura takes a step back, thinking.

Sweeney huffs. "You just gonna stand there looking pretty or are you going to let me out of here?"

"I'm thinking," Laura says. "Can you even walk?"

"Think so."

"Well alright then."

-

Salim-not-Salim is the kind of boy, the kind of anyone really, that Laura would usually skip town to avoid. Skip state, even. He's sweet. Sweet in a way people aren't supposed to be these days, full of warmth and sunshine and hope so fucking bright it hurts to look at him.

The night she breaks Mad Sweeney out of jail he steals Salim-not-Salim's cab. They almost get away with it but Laura has to pull over on their way out of town because Sweeney's bitching and moaning about the cut on his left cheekbone.

They pull into a gas station, Laura buys bandaid and antiseptic and a sewing kit, picks up some condoms as an afterthought. She bends over him in the back seat, sterilises the needle with her lighter. Sweeney watches the flames flicker white-yellow-orange in the dark of the cab. "You done this before?" he asks, voice a little raw.

Laura rolls her eyes, "Of course I have, hasn't everyone?"

"Really?"

"Fuck no," she says, crossly. "Who the hell do you think I am?"

"Well I don't know!" Sweeney says. "With what your man's been up to how am I to know you're not mafia or some shit?"

"Mafia?" Laura repeats.

"You know what I _mean_ ," he bites back, cheeks hot.

"Yeah, yeah," Laura says. She raises the needle, presses it to the edge of the cut. "Whatever you say, Sweeney."

He whines when the needle pierces his skin and Laura shakes her head, " _Baby_."

When she's done she's pulls out the packet of plasters she picked out specially. Holds them up for him to see before she pulls one out.

"Hello Kitty," he says. "Very mature."

Laura pats his cheek, "I thought you deserved to feel pretty." She tosses the wrappers out of the car window and watches as Sweeney rubs at them absently before climbing into his lap. It's not really something she's thought through or at all, for that matter, but his hands come up to bracket her hips instead of to shove her off and hell, it's been a while.

"I'm not Shadow," he says, like it's a warning.

"Well shit, Sweeney, I'm glad you told me. I was confused there for a minute."

"Fuck you," he says.

"I mean yeah, that's the point?"

It doesn't go much beyond that though because Salim-not-Salim knocks on the window with a tiny little handgun and asks them very politely to give his car back.

There's no real reason he lets them stay. Loneliness, Laura guesses. Whatever. She keeps thinking there must be something more to him, something deeper than his search for the guy he had a one night stand with but maybe there isn't. Maybe he's just that _nice_. Just that hopeful. She supposes there's probably got to be one person that believes in that truly, madly, deeply shit for every handful of cynical fucks about. The world would be awful dull without.

-

They trace Shadow to some big fancy house in some big fancy garden that looks like a scene out of Downton Abbey or something. Salim-not-Salim rolls the cab to a stop in front of the gates and says, "It says private property. I do not believe we are allowed in."

Laura looks at Sweeney. They share a _is this kid for real_? look before slamming out of the cab. "Wait here, Salim," she says. Asks.

He nods. She knows he will.

She trudges down the gravel path with Sweeney. He's got his hands in his pockets, fiddling with his lucky coin. It's dumb, she's told him, to have a lucky coin - to have a lucky anything but it hadn't got a rise. He'd smirked instead, pointed that he made it out of the police station alive and that Salim-not-Salim hadn't shot them or left them high and dry in Shitty Small Town number 11 or whatever which yeah, okay, Laura sees his point.

The problem with that though, is that somewhere along the line, Sweeney will get too reliant on it, too attached. Somewhere along the line he'll lose the coin or lose his luck and everything will crumble.

Sweeney leads them in a round about path that ends on a raised little hillock, surrounded by chin-high hedges. He lights up a cigarette while Laura peers at the house. They seem to be interrupting some sort of garden party, thirty or so middle aged men wearing white robes shuffle about. They've all got that strung out, haven't washed in seven years look clinging to them, long ratty dark hair, scraggly beards. "Cult," Laura guesses.

"Aye," Sweeney confirms.

"Lovely. And what particular brand of crazy are these fine fellows?"

Sweeney takes a drag. "See that pretty blonde down there?"

Laura squints. Spots a petite blonde walking arm in arm with a red-head.

"They think she's some kind of god? That she'll take away the spring or something one day."

Laura nods, "And the red-head?"

Sweeney drops his cigarette, crushes it under the heel of his boot. "She's the bad guy and I don't think she'll be happy when she finds out our boy-o is here."

"Alright," Laura says. "So, rescue?"

Sweeney sighs.

-

It goes well, their rescue. Shadow and his new boss getaway, Laura watches as they hightail it up the drive. Shadow's boss is laughing, the blonde goes with them. "Look back at me," she urges. "Look back, look back."

Shadow doesn't.

Sweeney is smoking again. "Sorry, Eurydice," he says. "Looks like your man doesn't love you enough to look back."

Laura shoves him hard. In the gut. "That's not the point of that story dipshit." She sighs, "Come on. Salim's probably waiting."

-

They shell out for a shitty motel and by _they_ Laura really means Sweeney who walked out Easter Ostara's cult with dubiously acquired wallets and Salim is pretending to be disapproving about the whole thing but they all know he's been desperate for a shower, for a real bed to sleep in.

There are only two rooms left, the owner says, bored as she shoves the keys into Sweeney's hands. Didn't matter to her that Sweeney certainly didn't look like he matched the name on the credit card he handed over.

That Laura and Sweeney will share is unspoken and Salim bids them good night as they crunch down the gravel path to their respective rooms. "So long as there are two beds," Laura says as Sweeney wrestles with the lock and Sweeney hisses, "Cursed it," as the door swings open. There's one bed, a king. Salim's room is the same.

Laura sighs. Makes sure she uses up all the hot water as revenge.

"Sure, sure," Sweeney says when he steps back out, towel bunched up around his waist and goose-pimples all up his chest and back. "But you've got to sleep next to my unshowered body, Miss Moon. Didn't think of that, didja?"

_Fuck._

_-_

They're a few motels (and a few rescue-Shadow missions) in before Sweeney climbs on top of her, crashes their mouths together. "I'm not Shadow," Laura says, against his mouth.

He rolls his eyes, "No shit, Sherlock."

"Okay," Laura says. She flips them, sits astride him, hands splayed against his bare chest. "Okay. But I want you to fuck me like Shadow fucks you."

Sweeney snorts. "Oh, I'm sure you can give as good as you get, sweetheart."

-

In the morning Salim is all smiles over the shitty diner breakfast, doesn't say anything about the dark bruises on Laura's neck, the raw red-ness of Sweeney's wrists. Maybe he thinks they've always been fucking, maybe he genuinely doesn't care. Either way, he shakes his head fondly when Sweeney starts in on the bacon talk, says he's fine with blueberries on his pancakes, thank you, and look, Laura agrees.

For the record, Laura has no strong feelings either way. About anything, really. Maybe that's the problem, has always been the problem. But she's got time to deal with it and for now, there's Shadow and there's Sweeney and there's Salim, which is really enough to be getting on with.


End file.
